strangerverse

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Henry Clarke had arrived with a couple of his usual crowd, collected a few more as he registered and wandered through the lobby, and now, happily ensconced on the seventh floor, they threatened to become a small riot. Albeit a genteel, impeccably dressed riot, Honey thought, watching them drift in and out of one another's rooms. She stood with her arms folded, trying to radiate disapproval, while they cheerfully and effortlessly radiated a cloud of alcohol back at her.

“You should have them thrown out,” Bessie said.

Honey sighed. “For what? They're not underage, they're not damaging anything. They're not even all that loud, really.”

“For being utter wastrels,” Bessie's friend, the plain one with the lank hair, suggested. Honey suppressed an urge to shake her, or possibly wash her, and forced a smile.

“But that's perfectly in-period,” she pointed out. “There were plenty of dissolute younger sons in the 30s. Henry's just being accurate.” Really Henry was just being Henry, she knew, but she felt compelled to mount a defence.

“Beautifully put, m'dear,” slurred Henry, draping an arm across her shoulders. Honey shrugged it off in annoyance, and turned to find him breathing down her neck. “I always knew you liked me.”

She gritted her teeth. “I'm just trying to get through the weekend without having anyone thrown out.”

“Pity, that.” He paused to take an exaggerated swig of something bubbly but completely odourless. “I was hoping you'd find some excuse to have that priceless ass Anderson thrown out on his ear.”

Privately Honey would have loved to have obliged, but she shot Henry a quelling glare. “You know he's on the steering committee, right?”

“How you can stomach sitting on committee with someone calling himself “The Colonel” I'll never know,” Henry said. “I mean, how d'you keep yourself from smirking? Or belting him right in his pretentious face? Has he tried to sign you up for one of his writing courses yet? Don't go, they're a waste of time and money.”

“How do you know?” Honey asked, arguing in spite of herself. “Have you ever been to one?”

Henry grinned. “Me? I go to all of 'em. He hates the sight of me—don't know why, I'm quite good looking—but the old miser can't bear to turn me away and give up the fee. Expect he needs the cash to support his wife and children. Word is she was pretty pissed when he tossed up his day job to be a full time writing coach and self-published thingamajig.”

“Really, Henry, must you?” Honey tried to look disapproving—of gossip, of drinking, of something—instead of gleeful. It wasn't very nice to gloat if the man had really quit his real life job in pursuit of BNFdom.

But she couldn't quite help herself.
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